Chickens in Venice
by Der Mondstrahl
Summary: After a terrible vacation on the planet Midnight, the Doctor and Donna decide to go to 18th century Venice. Naturally, they run into the local fame, Casanova, and get into more than they expected. And why does he owe a chicken? Slash. 10th Doctor/Casanova


**A/N: Welcome to my Doctor Who Casanova fic. I was reluctant to lable this as a crossover, as technically it could exist entirely within the Doctor Who universe. There's a line in the 5th season where the Doctor says he owes Casanova a chicken (I will be sure to work that in at some point) so it works without being a crossover. You don't have to have seen the BBC's Casanova from 2005, but if you have, you'll notice that I'll be lightly referencing jokes from it.**

** This is rated M because I rate most everything M so that I don't get dinged. Expect language and sexual situations (that may or may not be slash! If you don't like slash, don't read it.). I am, technically shipping Dr./Csnva. (Of course...Casanova is, by the definition of his character, shipped with everyone ever, but I'm going to write him with the Doctor). **

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or Casanova. I'm not making any money from this.

Donna had never seen the Doctor so broken as when he walked off the tour bus on the leisure palace on the planet Midnight. She'd heard what had happened. The bus had been taken over by some creature— some creature that shouldn't have been able to exist due to the radiation on Midnight. One of the other passengers was taken over by this vaporous alien, forced to mimic everything anyone said. Then it took over the Doctor.

His face said everything, and she took him into an embrace without question. He hugged her tighter, and she could feel him shaking slightly. They stood there, on the sun deck, until all the other people were gone.

Much later, they sat on the lounge chairs facing each other. The Doctor sat with his head in his hands, staring off into space. He seemed to have calmed down, so Donna risked a question.

"What do you think it was?"

The Doctor took a deep breath and met her eyes briefly. "No idea."

"Do you think it's still out there?" He didn't respond. "Well you better tell them, this lot."

He seemed to be roused from his horrified trance. "Yeah," he said, tired. "They can build a leisure palace somewhere else." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Let this planet keep on turning round the next tonic star in silence," he said darkly.

"Can't imagine you without a voice," said Donna, trying to change the subject.

The Doctor looked at her, and she was relieved to see his eyebrows lift in a tired smirk. "Molto bene."

"Molto bene," Donna repeated.

His smile was gone immediately. "No...Don't do that. Don't." His gaze turned impossibly dark. "Don't."

She looked seriously at him for a moment before whacking him on the arm. "Doctor, you promised me a bloody vacation! Take me somewhere _peaceful_. None of this 'oh I'm sorry, I didn't know there were going to be a mind controlling alien in my flying tour bus' nonsense."

He scoffed. "Don't insult mind controlling aliens. I am a mind controlling alien," protested the Doctor with a grin. Donna hit him again. "What? But _your_ vacation was just fine! You can't hit me for having a bad time," he said in a high, incredulous voice.

"Who says this vacation wasn't about making you more bearable in the first place! Now it's had the opposite effect. You're all traumatized."

"Me? Traumatized? I'm the Doctor. I don't get traumatized."

"I'm the Doctor. I don't get traumatized," Donna mimicked in the Doctor's accent. The Doctor flinched. "There! You are. Come off it. Let's go somewhere nice and safe."

"Oh, all right. It's not like I _seek out _horrible places. I go to lovely places. They just seem to become horrible when I get there...no that's not right..." he trailed off, thinking.

"Let's go somewhere you know isn't going to be horrible. Somewhere good. Very good."

He squinted at her and pursed his lips. "Molto bene," he said pensively. Then he stood up and started shouting excitedly. "I know! Italia! Venezia!"

"Doctor! Are you alright?"

"Molto bene, Donnanoble! We're going to Venice!" He took off around the pool towards the cabinet where they'd left the Tardis.

Donna caught up with him as he fumbled his key in the lock of the Tardis. She spoke to him out of breath. "You'd think...with a big fancy time machine...that you'd have an easier way to get in..." she panted.

"Can't show you all my tricks," he said with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows. He pushed the door open (even though the sign said to pull), and tossed his trench coat over the crook in the column of the Tardis. He rubbed his hands together and started twirling nobs and pushing buttons in the hexagonal interface. "Year!" he shouted to Donna.

"Ahh!" she tried to think of something quickly. "One Two Three Four!" she yelled excitedly, trying to keep up.

"Nah, that was a rubbish year. Let's go to 1756!"

"Well, if you'd already had a year in mind—." She was cut off by the jerk of the Tardis throwing itself into the Time Vortex.

When the Tardis came to a trumpeting stop, Donna was on her rear end, and the Doctor was already putting on his coat at the door.

"Well, come along, then! This is your vacation!"

"I thought we agreed this was to make you more pleasant."

"I am quite pleasant," said the Doctor. "I'm always pleasant. I _please_. I please people, isn't that right?" He stopped as the door swung open to a mostly empty square. "Lovely. Oh! I suppose you should change, si? No women in trousers!"

"I'll only change if you do. I expect you'll put me in a corset...'ave you ever worn a corset? Bloody painful."

"Worst day of my life," he responded. "Well, let's go then."

They retreated back into the Tardis. In truth, Donna loved taking advantage of the Tardis's magnificent wardrobe. She'd especially enjoyed dressing up for their 1920's party that turned into an Agatha Christie murder mystery. She wondered what the Tardis would have for 1750's Venice. She hurried up the DNA-like spiral staircase to the upper levels of the Tardis. The rack of clothing, resembling an eclectic laundromat, stretched out before her. The Doctor continued up to the next level of the Tardis where there was another access point to the rack that would give Donna privacy.

"Venice, Earth, 1756," she said aloud. The rack groaned to life, and clothes started to cycle past. The dresses got larger and fluffier until, finally, the rack swung to a halt. She poked through the fabrics a bit before speaking to the machine again, "'ow 'bout the green one."

The machinery started to whir, and arms flew from nowhere to undress and redress Donna into her extravagant garb. Before she knew it, she was clad in a green hoop-skirt made of Chinese silk. A mirror lowered itself in front of her, and she gasped at her reflection. The green of the dress contrasted perfectly with her red hair. What astonished Donna most was that her waist seemed impossibly small, yet she felt no compression in her chest and stomach. Was it just the effect of the hoops?

"Timelord corset. It's bigger on the inside."

Donna whirled around to see the Doctor on the staircase. "'Ow long 'ave you been standing there?"

"I haven't. What do you think?" he asked, stretching his arms out, and looking over his shoulder to try to see down his back.

He was wearing a long, navy blue, Chinese silk coat with enormous cuffs. Under the coat was an embroidered black silk vest over a fluffy white shirt. Around his neck was a piece of red fabric that acted as a scarf and bow-tie at the same time.

"Very smart," she said, nodding her approval. "Would you escort the lady?" she asked, her accent clashing magnificently with her words. He took her arm and they went back down the spiral staircase, into the main body of the Tardis, and out the door.

Back out in the square, the Doctor looked around contentedly before pulling Donna off towards a corridor. They soon found themselves in a much more populated square. The doctor leaned forward and back on the balls of his feet, scanning the crowd. Donna noticed that he was still wearing his black Converse All Star high tops rather than more period shoes. "Ahh, hmm, well. 1756. Too late for Marco Polo, and too early for Richard Wagner...This puts us right around the time of-"

"Extra! Extra! Read all about the hearings of Casanova! Tried and convicted!"

"Giacomo Casanova!" grinned the Doctor. "Wonder what he's up to!"

**A/N: Please review. If you like it, I'll post more. If you don't, I'll fix it and most more. If I don't get any reviews, I doubt I'll post more. :-)**


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